


Ascension Day

by ifinkufreaky



Series: Vikings Season Five One-Shots [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Group Sex, Multi, Orgy, Threesome - F/M/M, because of the implications, mild blaspheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: So I don’t believe I am the only one that watched Ivar crawl up to those small children in episode 5x01 and wanted desperately to trade places with them. Without further ado…. Imagine You and Your Friend Were the Ones Questioned By Ragnar’s Sons... With a Much Better Ending





	Ascension Day

 

 Your mother had always warned you not to stray too far into the woods outside the town; but if you go farther than everyone else, you can find berries that no one else had picked yet. Your best friend always comes with you, so it’s not as if you’re being completely daft. You would never come out here alone.

Your recklessness has caught up to you this fateful day, however, as you look up to find yourselves surrounded by heavily armored, rough-looking men wielding swords and axes. Northmen. Your friend screams but they only laugh. You are too far away from civilization for anyone to hear you.

To your relief, they don’t try to touch you. The warriors just herd you two to a shady grove deeper in the woods, where a pair of young men stand waiting. They are cleaner and dressed more finely than the others, but they are clearly still Northmen. They are both blonde, though they wear their long hair differently. The elder is bearded and has the sides of his scalp shaved. The rest of his hair is so long that his braid trails all the way down his back. The younger has his golden locks plaited close to his skull, and a restlessness to his stance.

Despite their wild eyes you feel almost instant relief at the sight of them. Something just seems more reasonable about these young men, who are clearly in charge of the grizzled warriors who have captured you. Viking princes? They glance at each other as you approach, sharing an unreadable look, but their eyes have a different cast when they look back up. As you and your friend step unwillingly closer, they direct you with hands and unintelligible words to sit down on the ground, with your backs to a large tree. You clutch your baskets half-full of berries and wait to see what will happen next. You feel your heart in your throat but you stay still. What else can you do?

The older one, whose pale blue eyes remind you of a hungry wolf, takes a seat before you, outstretched foot almost touching yours. The younger takes up a position leaning against the tree, just behind your shoulder.  It makes you even more nervous to not be able to see them both at once. You glance up at the younger, who gives you a smile that seems caught halfway between friendly and intimidating, like he hasn’t decided which one his face is supposed to show. Or perhaps the heathen doesn’t even know the difference.

They glance around frequently. They are waiting for something.

Your friend shifts beside you, sitting forward bravely. “What do you want from us?” she asks.

The wolf in front of you cocks his head to the side, but you can see from the hardness in his eyes that he does not understand, and doesn’t really care that he can’t.

Your friend is undeterred. She pats one hand on her chest and says her name, slow and loud. She has always been one to try and talk her way out of problems. Apparently even when they don’t speak the same language, she is still going to try. She pats herself again, repeats her name. The wolf is paying more attention, leans forward and watches her mouth.

“Y/n,” your friend says, reaching over and patting your knee now.

“Y/n,” the voice of the blonde above your shoulder repeats, his accent strange and melodious.

You look up in surprise. His tone is genial, even happy. “Hvitserk,” he says, patting his own chest. When he smiles he looks so much younger, but there’s an urgency in his face that the momentary grin cannot soften.

You look across at the wolf expectantly. “Ubbe,” he grunts, then takes a deep breath that exhales with a little sigh, like he’s resigning himself to something. The strange, predatory look in his eye intensifies.

You look over at your friend; she is grinning like an idiot. You can’t tell if it’s because she thinks her plan is working, whatever it is, or if it’s just because she’s nervous and hoping to placate the men surrounding you both.

The man called Ubbe leans forward, catches your friend’s ankle in his hand. His grip looks rough at first but then his thumb strokes softly along the little line of bare skin exposed above her shoe.

Before you can react you feel Hvitserk’s hand on your shoulder. You turn to find him dropping to sit on his heels beside you, a longing look in his eyes as his hand caresses across the top of your chest, exploring the opening of your dress.

Everyone looks up at the sound of crunching leaves, something dragging through the woods. Another youth, this one with dark hair falling loose into his face, is crawling up over the ridge toward you, and both men pause the wandering of their hands.

The newcomer barks something at the other two, his face bemused and perhaps a little bit irritated. Hvitserk shifts, his hand gripping your shoulder in a more proprietary way now. You get a strange sense that he wants to protect you from the man with dark hair and even darker eyes.

Ubbe answers him, his voice a near-growl, but he shifts himself back to make room as your new companion draws near and pulls his legs around to sit right next to you. You see now why he was crawling; his legs are bound together, thin and mostly limp. He is crippled. It should make him seem more harmless but it does not; the powerful movements of the rest of his body as he comes closer are absolutely intimidating.

He looks at the two other men first, shakes his head softly like he is laughing at them.

Your friend uses the pause to try her stratagem on the newcomer. She leans forward and again states her name in a voice meant to sound calm and soothing as she presses her hand to her chest.

He turns to her with one eyebrow arched. You should not be thinking about how handsome he is in this moment, but it is all that you can think. “Is that your name?” he says in an amused tone. The syllables are odd, the vowels stretched, but he is definitely speaking your language.

“Yes,” your friend says, almost sobbing in relief that someone is finally talking back. “Please, what do you want from us?”

The man smiles, a look that he certainly intends to be reassuring. It cannot hide the darkness that is plain in his soul. “I am Ivar,” he says, ignoring her question. He turns the false friendliness in his wide eyes toward you, nods expectantly as he captures your gaze and waits for you to introduce yourself too.

His eyes are such a strange shade of blue, they almost glow. You know this man is not to be trusted but you feel a deep, primal urge to give him whatever he wants when that angelic face is beaming down on yours. You choke out your name, not even bothering to hide your terror.

He smiles as he repeats it, like he’s tasting you just by knowing its syllables. “So.” He looks between your two faces again, like now that you know each others’ names you are perfect friends. “If you speak the truth, we will not hurt you.”

Not friends then. A chill passes through you, made worse by the way Hvitserk’s fingers continue to pull at you. You can feel the urgency there, how hard he is working to hold himself back. If Ivar had not appeared, these two would certainly have been after your virtue.

“What—what is it that you wish to know?” your friend asks, stuttering in her fear even as she tries to be brave, and compliant. When you glance over you see that Ubbe has a hold of her leg again.

“Just tell us when you will celebrate the next day of your Christian saint.” His voice lilts up a bit on the last word, as if he is not entirely certain he has worded his question correctly. His wide eyes flit from hers to yours and he nods his head as if willing you to be agreeable.

You exchange glances with your best friend. The question is very unexpected. What do these godless pagans care for the holy days? You are suddenly reminded of the stories of the many martyrs, tested for their faiths. You are not certain you have the strength or spiritual certainty to withstand any such trials. “In three days’ time it will be Ascension Day,” your friend blurts. You feel a brief pang of guilt, giving the heathens anything, but surely compliance is your best option for escaping this meeting alive.

“Three,” Ivar repeats, and you nod vigorously. He holds up his hand to show the other Northmen your answer. “There!” he says, holding your eyes with a cruel cast behind the kind smile, like he has enjoyed playing with you. “That was easy? Hn?” He leans back, nodding to the other young men who all but fall upon you. Ubbe pulls your friend’s leg wide and tries to move his body between them, while Hvitserk’s hand slides over your chest and takes a firm grip on your breast.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t hurt us!” you cry, capturing Ivar’s eyes with your own as you plead.

“They do not want to hurt you,” he replies, voice condescending, almost puzzled. “We only… do not wish you to rush away so quickly.” His sudden smile is wicked sharp, and he reaches out, leaning toward you too. Your breath catches but his hand crosses past your body, landing in your forgotten basket of berries and plucking up a few. “Have some fun with us before we part,” Ivar says, almost cheekily, as he pops the fruit into his mouth.

A tantalizing throbbing has already begun between your legs, between the kneading of Hvitserk’s hand, his breath against your neck, and the depths of Ivar’s eyes. Your friend is staring at Ubbe as his face looms over hers, her hands poised on his chest to keep him off but not pressing very hard.

“We are princes, you know,” Ivar continues. “Great and important men. You want to be our friends.”

Hvitserk’s hand tries to dive between your legs and you press them tightly together. Ivar frowns. You are tempted, but it is hard to decide so quickly.

Ubbe turns his head and says something soft and urgent to Ivar. He almost sounds kind now.

Ivar smirks and looks at your friend, then you. “My brothers only wish to kiss you. We are lonely here, so far away from our home.”

“Just a kiss?” your friend says in a breathy voice. She has not taken her eyes off of Ubbe, and she’s looking at him as if she is dreaming. He nods, presses his body a little further over hers, and she licks her lips.

You feel a bit in a trance, yourself. Hvitserk’s warm hands are making you tingle everywhere that they touch. You tear your eyes from Ivar’s captivated face to look straight at the blonde who has already been acquainting himself so intimately with your body.

He is beautiful too. You are not sure if you have ever seen men so handsome as these, nor as clean. They don’t stink like the men in your town. As you breathe in so close to Hvitserk’s face you get only a campfire smell, and hint of spicy male musk underneath that sets things clenching low in your body.

You contemplate his lips, just full enough, reddish, his smile softened by his obvious, eager arousal. He takes the shift in your gaze as assent and pushes forward to press those lips to yours.

He is softer than you expected, playing with you, melting slowly into your mouth and humming a pleased little noise at your taste. His hands pull more languidly at your body, enticing more than grabbing now.

Your head starts to spin and you pull away. Are you really doing this? Hvitserk mouths along your jaw and down your throat as you sneak a glance at your friend. She is almost flat on her back already, eyes closed in soft pleasure as she chases the bearded man’s kisses.

Your eyes are pulled back to Ivar. Something about that one is absolutely magnetic to you. “What about you?” you ask boldly. It feels strange that he just sitting there, letting his brothers have all the fun. Especially since everyone acts like he is the one in charge of all of them.

Something flashes in his eyes before he settles back into that falsely pleasant face. “A kiss for each of us,” he says, arching one perfect eyebrow. “That seems fair.”

Your friend is looking at you nervously. She doesn’t want to be the one that has to do it. It is true, somehow Ivar is the most frightening one of them all. But as you lean forward you know that you want to, that this is more than just pity or fear. There is something entirely tantalizing about this dark youth. You come to your hands and knees to close the distance between your faces. Ivar holds still and lets you come to him, eyes impassive but absolutely focused.

You feel braver than you’ve ever felt as you tip your head to the side and press your mouth over this heathen’s wide, pouty lips. He’s frozen for the first moment, and then his mouth opens as his fingers dig into your hair. He kisses you like you’re a fruit he is trying to savor even though he is starving. You feel your jaw working and realize you are matching his fervor perfectly, your tongues twining across and around each other, as his grip on your hair holds your head so steady you cannot move, let alone retreat.

The feeling of Hvitserk rubbing himself against your upturned ass is a bit of a shock. The hardness between his legs is apparent and you whimper into Ivar’s mouth.

“Stay and play,” Ivar says, holding his eyes a mere inch from your own. “Hvitserk wants to kiss you somewhere else.” His eyes flash in a smirk over your shoulder at the other man, the look almost mean-spirited. You can tell already that this Ivar has a very mysterious and complicated mind. Why does he keep acting as if his companions have more lustful intentions than him? You felt the way that he kissed you; you are practically panting from it.

Ivar lets your hair go and you sit back, pulling your ass down and away from Hvitserk’s hips as he switches to pressing his front flush against your back, hands instantly wandering again. Ivar is watching those hands as you turn to look at your friend.

 “Do you want to stay?” you ask softly, though the answer seems evident. Her body is rocking rhythmically against Ubbe’s, and he’s got one shoulder of her dress pulled down far enough to reach her breast with his mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” she says as Ubbe switches to nipping at her throat, “but…”

“I know,” you answer. These beautiful men are just too tempting. “No one has to know…”

Your eyes flit to the other warriors, ranged around you a bit further out. Your cheeks color and you look back at Ivar to find him smirking as he asks: “Do you not like that they are looking?”

Hvitserk is trying to pull up your skirt while you struggle to hold it down in the sight of all these men. You shake your head.

Ivar looks over his shoulder with a lazy arrogance and bellows something at his soldiers. There are only a few disappointed grunts as each of them turns about-face and gives you their back. Ivar’s eyes return to yours with an expectant, hungry glaze.

Hvitserk says softly into your ear, nipping at the lobe as he waits for Ivar to translate. “He wants you to lie down.” You start to turn and Ivar’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you down with iron fingers to lay your head into his own lap.

Your friend is moaning; Ubbe’s arm is buried to the elbow under her rumbled skirts and you see her bare knee bouncing. Hvitserk starts to draw your own dress up, laying his body down between your legs and kissing the inside of your knee.

You look up at Ivar, awestruck for a moment at the sight of his gorgeous face looming directly over yours, strands of black hair falling down all around. “What is he going to do?” you ask.

Ivar smiles. “Have you never had a man down there, y/n?”

“Not like this,” you answer honestly.

Hvitserk keeps pushing your legs wider and wider. His mouth seems aimed at the throbbing ache at your center, where you never thought men wanted to put anything but their cocks before. He asks Ivar something; perhaps he has sensed your hesitation. The man holding your head softly in his hands answers, and then Hvitserk says something into your skin that makes Ivar laugh. “He thinks the English must be very poor lovers. He says he wants to show you how it is done in the North.”

And that is the only warning you get before Hvitserk’s fingertips invade your most intimate of areas. It’s not exactly unpleasant as he parts your folds and explores, but the sensation is so foreign that you gasp and squirm in Ivar’s lap.

“Shhhh,” Ivar soothes, gripping the sides of your face to hold you steady. Rough fingertips swirl at your very opening, pulling the slickness they find there up and around something that positively bursts with pleasure at every touch. Very quickly, everything he does starts to feel good. Very, very good.

You stare up at Ivar, wide-eyed with awe and pleasure, even though it is the other man that is doing this to you. Ivar in return is studying your face like your reactions are the most fascinating sight in the world. You feel Hvitserk’s head brush your thigh and then his hot mouth presses a burning kiss right over that pleasure point that he has found. Your hips arc up and you crease your brow and moan at the intensity of his sucking lips.

Again, Ivar’s hands are stroking you, soothing you, instructing you to stay calm and let this all happen. His fingers trace your face as you learn how to relax into the strange, ferocious sort of pleasure that Hvitserk is giving you. Your mother had always said that sex was a few uncomfortable minutes that was worth it to make a man happy, and you had never spoke with another woman who said any different. These people from the North… they know something else.

Ivar’s finger is trailing along your lips, and on a sudden, primal urge you twist to catch it and suck it into your mouth. He groans from somewhere deep in his chest as he watches you take it, feels the way your tongue swirls and lathes at his fingertip. His other hand leaves your body, rubs against something beside your head. His cock. His gaze goes internal and then sharpens on your face again in something that looks like surprise.

You respond with a sinful smile and suck his finger down even further.

Your legs are starting to shake. As mysterious as the emotions passing across Ivar’s face may be, whatever Hvitserk is doing beneath your skirts is starting to drown out your ability to pay attention to anything else. His tongue is pressing hard and fast over that pleasurable little spot, over and over and over and over. You start to hear a high-pitched mewling and you are not sure if it is coming from your friend or from you.

Ivar is doing something with his belt but it barely registers. Wave after wave of white-hot joy is coursing through your body; you never knew that anything could feel so good. Your eyes crease shut and you hear a second soft voice; it’s both of you making these wild, feminine sounds then. Hvitserk sucks down and it’s like some kind of wildfire catches under his tongue. Your body arches as that pleasure peaks and takes control of your every muscle.

Your head rocks off Ivar’s lap, into his waiting hand. You’re still coming down from whatever that overwhelming feeling was, and only open your eyes just in time to see his erection spring forth from where he’s released it from his trousers. You whimper and look up at his face; his jaw has gone slack with need and his eyes are lit up with devilish purpose and….pride? “Open your mouth,” he instructs, his strange accent turning the words into music.

You obediently follow the instruction and Ivar points the tip of himself toward your face. You hear Hvitserk say something in their language but Ivar ignores him.

“Suck it,” Ivar says, and presses forward. His other hand is still at the back of your head, guiding you right onto his cock. You swirl your tongue over his tip, tasting the salt and feeling the surprising softness of the skin. Ivar’s moan is delighted and it compels you to take him in further, locking your lips around his shaft and sucking slow and deep. He groans and presses you down further.

Hvitserk is lifting your leg again, moving his body up in between. Ivar barks something at him and his hands bid you to slow down, stop sucking while he deals with this.

You look up; the brothers are exchanging quick words and heavy looks. Then Hvitserk shrugs and pulls away, adjusting himself in his pants and scooting back against the tree. Ivar’s face looms over yours again. “I get you first,” he says darkly.

He rolls on top of your body with ease, though getting all of the clothing out of the way takes a few more grunting tugs as his face creases with irritation. Every time he brushes against your sex, another shock of arousal courses through you. Will this feel as good as Hvitserk’s tongue?

Ivar lines himself up and, to your surprise, closes his eyes and holds still for a moment. The head of his cock is pressing sweetly against your slick opening but he does not enter, centering his weight on his elbows on either side of your head, his face hovering only inches above your own. The tip of his tongue is peeking out from between his lips as he exhales and slowly starts to push himself inside.

The other times you’ve done this, it has either hurt or felt mostly numb, just as you had always been told God had intended for women. Not this time. The slow invasion of this Northman’s cock is a warm, joyful pressure that makes the aching pain of his entry barely register. In fact, the feel of him stretching you inch by inch is part of the rush, making you feel helpless and strong all at once.

When he is settled fully inside, Ivar opens his eyes and just stares at you, his strange blue eyes awe-struck. You think it must be the same face that you were making at him moments ago, and so you mirror his response: reaching up to stroke the side of his face with a soothing little hum.

The smile that breaks over his face seems real.

He starts moving again, slowly bucking his hips out and in. His pleasure is so intense that he arcs his head back and groans into the air. It makes you want more. You tip your hips and find that that pulls him deeper; you both moan and start rocking as one.

The intensity ramps up naturally after that, both of you desperately chasing this mad sensation that grows and grows the harder you fuck. Ivar’s eyes are fixed on your face, his tongue extended like one of the demons at the cathedral and you find that you like how much that comparison scares you. If devils can make you feel this way... It’s starting to hurt again and even the pain is satisfying. Your face scrunches up as he slams into you; you’re close to the edge of what you can take. His hand caresses your face again, his lips whispering urgent, soothing words into your skin but they’re in the wrong language now, he is so overcome. You know he’s bidding you to hold on, and take it, for him. His groan is loud in your ear when his release overtakes him, his body spasming as he buries himself one last time deep inside you.

He collapses when it is finished; apparently men of all countries share that in common. At least his fingers are stroking softly over the skin of your throat as he lays there entwined with you, catching his breath.

The almost-inhuman sounds still coming from your friend’s mouth capture your attention, and you roll your head to the side to see her spread on her hands and knees, Ubbe with his hands on her hips behind her and rutting into her like a beast in the field. Her cheeks are flushed and sweaty and you can see that she is loving it. Ubbe’s face sends another thrill through you; his jaw is set almost as if he is at war with his own pleasure, like his finish will be a victory and a loss both at once. You watch that moment come as his eyes roll back, but he keeps fucking into her until your friend’s wails turn to sobs.

Hvitserk growls something from where he sits against the tree. Ivar finally lifts his head from the crook of your neck and calls back an irritable response. Then he looks back down at you. “My brother is complaining,” Ivar says, his voice sounding lower and thicker now in his satisfaction. “He says his cock is lonely. He wants to know if you will be as good to him as you were to me.” Mischief dances behind Ivar’s eyes, it looks like he would be just as amused if you said either yes or no.

“Well, he was so good to me…” you reply saucily.

Ivar frowns, curling an arm around your shoulder. “Or perhaps I shall keep you all to myself. I find you very pleasing, y/n.”

Ubbe’s voice comes soaring over, warning clear in his tone. “Ivar…”

Your new lover rolls his eyes and rocks his body off of you. “Go,” he says. As you clamber up off the ground he gives your ass a playful swat. “You have a debt to pay. Go see if you can make him scream as loud as he did you.”

Were you screaming when Hvitserk gave you all that pleasure down there? You cannot recall. Hvitserk is grinning at you eagerly, already loosening his trousers as you approach.

He welcomes you to settle over him with hands that seem to want to touch everything at once. He is saying things you can’t understand. His voice is softer than the others’, and it sounds like praise. He tugs at the top of your dress.

You frown at him, an exaggerated pout, really, and turn your head to see who is looking before you let him bare your skin.

Everyone is looking. Ivar with equal parts amusement and satisfaction, your friend with sleepy encouragement. She is resting in Ubbe’s arms now, seeming content to wait for you to finish your fun. Even Ubbe looks eager to watch the reveal as he sits comfortably against a large stone.

You turn your gaze back to Hvitserk, and with a shy nod you help him draw your dress all the way down to your waist. His hands cover your breasts almost immediately, followed by his mouth as he explores more of your body.

You find yourself grinding your hips over his erection soon enough as the tender sensations he’s drawing from your chest ignite your lust anew. These heathens seem fluent in every sin, and you are ready to learn everything.

Ivar says something to Hvitserk, some kind of request. The blonde nods after a moment and lifts you with his hips, rotating your bodies away from the tree. Then he laces his fingers in yours and lays back, pushing to keep you sitting up on top of him. Now you are facing Ubbe and your friend, with Ivar to your side, your naked torso exposed to everyone’s view. Was that what Ivar had asked for?

You blush and move to cover your breasts but Hvitserk won’t let go of your hands. He makes a soothing noise, and his face is so innocent and eager you find yourself relaxing. He makes some request of you in a low and breathy voice. His hands dive under the pooling fabric of your dress and it becomes clear what he asked as he grasps his erection and presses it between your legs.

You can’t look at anyone but you do it, picking yourself up and then carefully settling over the tip of his cock. A great sigh escapes you as he sinks in, easier than Ivar because you have already been stretched and you are wet, so wet. It feels deeper this way; if you relax all the way it feels like he reaches the very end of you.

But Hvitserk doesn’t want you to relax. His hands at your hips urge you to ride him, rocking up and down on his cock as you experiment with how the different angles feel. He helps you a little, bouncing his hips, and when you find the position that makes you groan he keeps it, fucks up into you with surprising control.

Your eyes stray to the others. Your friend seems fascinated, and a heavy lust is creeping into Ubbe’s eyes as he watches your breasts bounce with Hvitserk’s impacts. Ivar is staring like he has forgotten himself, forgotten everything but you.

Hvitserk’s hand creeps up your thigh, thumb finding that sweet pleasure spot above your cunt. You moan and lose what little self-consciousness you had left, tossing your head and riding your pleasure out over his body. It’s not as strong as the first one but when your muscles clench around his cock the feeling is richer, more satisfying somehow. Hvitserk’s pace stutters soon after, and he pulls your hips over himself in a soft, rocking swirl for a few more breaths before he gives up and settles back, arms outstretched upon the earth and a contented smile on his face.

When you move to dismount, Hvitserk pulls you to settle onto the ground beside him. He turns your face toward his, brushing your nose affectionately with the tips of his fingers. He murmurs something, then says his brother’s name and repeats it louder.

Ivar laughs. “Hvitserk wants to know if you will come back with us.”

“And stay?”

“Yes, he wants to keep you.” Ivar seems amused at the very idea.

You shake your head. This was fun but you do not wish to leave your home.

Hvitserk frowns. He almost looks worried now. He sits up on his elbows, starts arguing with the others. Ivar seems like he wants to agree, but Ubbe’s voice is harsh and cautious. He lets go of your friend, who creeps away and works to straighten her clothes. You start doing the same, though Hvitserk will not release his grip on your arm. Finally they reach some sort of conclusion, though it is impossible to tell who has won. Their emotions are all so complicated.

Ivar looks to you and your friend again. “You cannot go home now,” he announces bluntly. “You might warn someone that you saw us here.” He extends his hand to you. “Come along. I think you will like it with us.”


End file.
